


Who is... Micolash?

by morbidghost



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Other, POV Experimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:01:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25133557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morbidghost/pseuds/morbidghost
Summary: A simple question has struck the scholar right into the pit of his fading consciousness.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Who is... Micolash?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A faint heart and a bite-sized tragedy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=A+faint+heart+and+a+bite-sized+tragedy).



I'm numb, but I hear myself talk over the nonsense. 

I really could care less about your opinion, dear Hunter, however, there's something that unsettles me deeply. Something that resides in the core of my very essence, buried underneath the coat of thick and insufferable madness. 

It is a bitter feeling that I have always been carrying in my heart as if it was a part of me, or even worse as if I was it entirely. I really wish you had no idea what it is like, but again, how do I even make predictions like that if my brain is blind? When it is dead and rotting, a small portion of my former self just silently spectating the whole ordeal. 

I watch myself running through a hallway. And another one. You chase me down.

It's warm. Not a comforting kind of warmth; it smells like metal. 

You thrust the blade harder into my body. Or is it the pitiful feeling that I cannot express? It really reeks blood. Dust. Dirt. Candle wax. Ink.

Dare I ask why? Do you know what crimes have I committed? Were you there when I have sinned? Is this my punishment or is it the bloodlust that brought you here? Hunter, oh, Hunter, may I dare to ask?

Do you even know my name?

It is running down my cheeks, painting the pale canvas red. A portrait of a madman right in front of you. He grins, he laughs, he taunts you, yet even in such corrupted state he knows: a hunter is a hunter, even in a dream. 

And I don't blame you for putting a blade to my throat. You see what you see. And maybe you have even heard of what atrocities this harrowed shadow has accomplished. I am worse than a beast - I am a monster, they say. Isn't it a hunter's duty to slay such?

No matter how much I struggle, the rusted edge will inevitably dig into my skin.

I know it, locked inside this pitiful state, that I am about to be finally put to rest. 

However, yet again, I can't help but wonder.

Do you even know my name?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a purely experimental piece. I may write more of such if you like. There are some stories to tell.   
> My primary language isn't English so there might be some grammatical oddities. Feel free to point out such, I will appreciate it.  
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
